Where Will You Go
by Espree
Summary: Banished from Gondor and hunted by those he once called his dearest friends, Legolas must fight for survival if he is to see his name cleared of the terrible crimes for which he has been framed. He finds refuge in Forodwaith, the icy northern lands...
1. T' For Traitor

**Title:** **Where Will You Go?**

**By: **Espree

**Rating:** Strong PG-13 ('T' on this site). This first chapter's about as violent as it's going to get (which is more than enough don't you think?).

**Timeline: **Post-ROTK, set in the fifth year of the Fourth Age. Legolas has not yet brought elves to Ithillien, and Eldarion has not yet been born. Gimli, in addition, has not yet moved into the Glittering Caves.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or anything created and copyrighted by Tolkien and New Line Cinema, I simply got bored and my muse decided to have a little fun with the characters. I'm making no profit from this, not now or ever. So don't sue, please.

**Feedback: **Yes, please, but no flames. If you don't like the story go read something else, don't waste your time and mine yelling at me because this isn't your cup of tea, so to speak. Constructive criticism is welcome, though.

**Summary:** Banished from Gondor and hunted by those he once called his dearest friends, Legolas must fight for survival if he is to see his name cleared of the terrible crimes for which he has been framed. He finds refuge in Forodwaith, the icy land of the far north, while some friends who have not given up on his innocence struggle to bring the real culprit to justice. But even if they succeed, can they find Legolas? And will they be able to convince him to come home; or has their friendship been ruined forever?

**Warnings:** Death, torture, angst, all that good stuff you've probably come to expect from a fic like this by now. In addition this story is non-slash, and any non-hetero love mentioned is brotherly/sisterly love, savvy?

**Chapter Warning:** Gruesome punishment, yet not as gruesome as some of the stuff they did to people back in the Middle Ages. Oh, and many of you are likely to be quite pissed with Aragorn by the end of this chapter.

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**Chapter 1: 'T'—For Traitor**

The dawn broke over the city of Minas Tirith bright and full of hope as it had unfailingly throughout the many centuries since the city had first been founded. However for the crowd of people gathered at its gates there was no cheer, no hope.

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, known to his people as King Ellesar, sat tall upon his black stallion, Roheryn. His personal guards flanked him, both behind and to either side. Sitting on his own chestnut horse at the King's left was Faramir, son of Denethor, the King's Steward. His expression was grim, and his eyes kept flicking sideways to regard the man whom he knew not only as his king, but held in his regard as one of his dearest friends. Next to him Beregond, and the other members of his White Company added their strength to the king's guards, doubling the protection around their nation's leaders.

Arwen, Queen of Gondor, sat upon her gentle mare at her husband's right hand. Her face was drawn, and though she tried to sit as tall and firm as Aragorn and Faramir, she could not hide the anguish and torment that darkened her normally cheerful eyes, complimenting the dark circles beneath them. Secretly she wished they could just get this over with so that she could retreat back to the solace of hers and her husband's private chambers, and continue to grieve in peace.

Next to her Eowyn cast a sympathetic gaze on the queen, wishing there was something more she could do to ease the terrible pain she knew was tearing her friend apart from the inside out.

"Not much longer now, be strong my Queen," she whispered encouragingly. Arwen blinked back the tears in her eyes and nodded, unable to find the voice to respond.

The sudden increase in noise from the crowd gathered along the street caused all four of them, as well as their guards, to turn their attention to the group that was making its way down the street.

Ten horsemen in full armor carrying spears, swords and bows formed a rough circle as they went. Within the circle was another, this time of ten fully armored and armed men on foot. These walked with bows drawn and arrows knocked, perpetually trained on the one who walked in their center.

Legolas Greenleaf walked with his head bowed as low as the thick iron collar around his neck would allow, an equally thick chain ran from the ring at the front of the collar where it attached to the manacles on his wrists and then ran down to the short chain that connected the shackles around his ankles. He struggled to keep from tripping as the chain restricted his usually long stride. Next to him two more guards each held a chain that connected to the sides of the heavy collar.

The crowd was becoming increasingly loud as the elf and his guards came nearer to the city's great gates. They knew well what was taking place, and they were eager to see it done.

Legolas tried his hardest to stay firm in his resolve and not show any more emotion than was possible considering his current circumstances. While he was mostly successful to anyone who happened to look at him—and right now there were many—inside the firstborn's mind was whirling down dark paths of despair. How could this have happened? Surely they did not think him capable of such an unspeakable act?

As his guards came to a halt before the assembled leaders of Gondor, Legolas finally dared to look up, only to see his answer mirrored in the eyes of four of the people he held most dear.

They did.

The guards holding the chains to his collar forced him to his knees before the king, and he looked up into Ellessar's eyes briefly, before his head was forced down.

If Aragorn had been sitting tall before, his height now seemed to double. His eyes held less compassion than any who knew him had ever seen before, and as his voice rang out it echoed with more power than even the fabled Horn of Helm Hammerhand in Helm's Deep.

"Legolas Greenleaf, you stand before us having been found guilty of murder, as well as high treason against the kingdom of Gondor. Have you any last words before you are sentenced?"

Legolas' heart clenched within his chest. What could he say? He was innocent! He'd been saying that ever since this whole thing began, yet as more and more evidence piled against him even Aragorn, who had been as a brother to him long before the Quest of the Ring, turned a cold eye on him, denouncing everything their friendship had ever stood for.

"I know not what you wish to hear, mellon nin. My heart bleeds for everything you have been put through, and I only hope that one day you'll know the truth, for surely you cannot believe I would ever do such a thing to anyone, let alone someone I count as a brother."

Aragorn bristled. "How dare you," he hissed. "At one time you may have been friend and brother to me, but never again! You threw that away the moment you decided to make an attempt on my life and end the life of my unborn child! You, Legolas, are forthwith banished from the kingdom of Gondor and the lands of those she counts as her allies."

Legolas paled. Gondor was allied with the majority of the peoples of Middle Earth. That meant that there would be precious few places he could go, and most of them were hostel towards outsiders. Especially those associated with the Reunited Kingdom. Not only would he be cut off from his home, but he'd also be unable to seek shelter with anyone who would have believed his side of the story. He'd also never see any of his friends or father again.

"But before you are cast out," here Aragorn almost faltered. He'd told no one about this part of the sentence, save for those whose help he needed to carry it out. He fought the urge to glance at Arwen and the others. They'd expected the banishment, but what he was about to do next had not been carried out as punishment for centuries in Gondor or Rohan. Only the Haradrim and Easterlings were rumored to still employ such penalties for convicted criminals, and they considered by many of his people to be vicious and barbaric. He had no way of being certain how such a sentence might be viewed by his wife or Faramir and Eowyn, let alone the people of Minas Tirith. However, looking at the one responsible for such pain as he and his beloved had gone through the past few weeks, his resolve snapped back into place.

"You will be marked for your crimes, so that all who might meet you will know that any who attempts such horrible crimes against the crown will not be let off easily, but that Gondor is not as merciless as others in the face of such treachery."

Legolas' eyebrows furrowed questioningly, though with his face pressed against the ground no one could see the unspoken query in them. What did Aragorn mean, 'marked for your crimes'?

At some silent command, the guard holding his head down let go, and the elf's upper body was pushed up out of the bow. As the guards kept their weapons trained closely on him, the shackles on his wrists were undone, and the chain on the front of his collar unclipped. The two guards holding the remaining chains manhandled the prince's upper body back until as much of it rested on the ground as was possible considering that his legs were still folded under him. Legolas winced at the discomfort such stretching caused his knees, and his calves and feet started to tingle with the reduced circulation.

The guards each kept one hand on his shoulders while they wrapped the chains around their other hand before leaning on said hands. Two more guards knelt next to their comrades, and pinned his hands palm-up to the pavestones. The final product was one very securely restrained elf.

Legolas did not like where this was going.

Two men who until now had remained off to the side and relatively unnoticed stepped forward. Legolas recognized them as friends Gimli had made during his frequent stays in the city. The elder of the pair, Thren, was a very well respected blacksmith in Minas Tirith. His son, Reus, the other walking towards the guards and their captive, looked to be more than a fine replacement for him when the day came that Thren decided his days at the forge were done.

Each carried in their hands a pole, to which was fastened a chain slinging between them a cauldron, with two black rods sticking up from where it leaned against the side. Smoke rose from the inside of the cauldron, and the arms and faces of those who carried it glowed and sweated against the heat.

Legolas' heart fell straight to his stomach, which was quite clearly telling him that under no circumstances would anything be allowed to stay there.

Eowyn gasped despite herself. Beside her Arwen was fighting to keep her hand from flying to cover her mouth. Instead she grabbed Eowyn's hand in a death grip.

Faramir's eyes widened in horror. He had heard of such a punishment having been used by various people throughout the millennia, and knew that in the east and far south such sentences were still carried out. But never did he think to see such a horrible thing done in Gondor. This was mercy? Aragorn in his anger and grief must have gone mad!

He turned to see his horror reflected in the faces of his wife and the Queen as well and looked at Aragorn. "Do you realize what you are doing? This is cruel and barbaric!"

"So is murdering a child who still resides within his mother's womb. I'll have there be no talk of me letting Legolas off easy for betraying us when as a traitor he by all rights should be put to death. I'm showing him enough mercy by letting him keep his life," Aragorn returned.

"What life? Do you really think he will live long out there with such limits as you have placed on him, and with such wounds?" Faramir couldn't believe what he was hearing. As much as this didn't sit well with him, the Steward had agreed that it was fair to banish the elven prince. Faramir still believed Legolas to be innocent. There were just too many coincidences for him to believe otherwise. Those coincidences had led Aragorn and the rest of the city to believe the blonde elf guilty, but in his mind they had further cemented his innocence. And Aragorn was right, the traditional punishment for traitors was death; at least if Legolas was alive the Steward could clear his name when he caught the real culprit and bring him home.

But this… Faramir was no fool. He knew how grief could affect an elf, and he had been worried enough about Legolas before. Now his heart told him that if they ever saw the prince alive again after this, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

"He deserves nothing less," Aragorn murmured darkly. He dismounted and strode over to meet Thren and Reus, motioning them to put the cauldron down and step away. His gloved hand reached down and grasped the handle of one of the rods, and lifted it out of the burning coals.

He moved towards Legolas, who was staring at his old friend with a mixture of horror and disbelief.

Arwen closed her eyes, the situation becoming more than she could bear. Never had she ever wished to witness something such as this. The fact that her husband was the one committing such an act and on one she once regarded as family was too much for her. How could Aragorn ask her to bear witness to this?

The guards holding down Legolas's hands forcefully uncurled his fingers, pinning them down to the street as well. Seeing the white-hot end of the iron coming towards him threw him back in time for a moment, to the days when he and Aragorn had spent years exploring and adventuring in and around Mirkwood and Rivendell. Sometimes with the twins, sometimes on their own, they had managed constantly to find trouble and seldom it was that they escaped unharmed.

The 'Disaster Prone Duo', that's what Elladan and Elrohir had called them. A sentiment echoed by no fewer than practically everyone they'd gotten to know over the years. Though after the War of the Ring such adventures and disasters were scarce, which Aragorn's advisors very much appreciated.

But they always would escape, and never with anything Lord Elrond couldn't patch up, though there had definitely been multiple close calls.

Legolas' musing came to an abrupt end as excruciating pain shot through his left arm, pooling most intensely in his palm. Any effort he might have put into remaining silent was forgotten as he cried out against the searing assault.

After what felt like an eternity the iron was lifted away, though the pain hardly lessened. Through his haze of agony Legolas saw Aragorn plunge the iron back into the coals. Betrayal hit him in the chest like a thunderbolt.

Not only did Aragorn not believe him, he was also resorting to acts that Legolas only ever believed their most sadistic enemies would turn to for revenge. It also occurred to him that escape wasn't going to be possible this time. Illuvatar, it had been proven the moment Aragorn had pressed the scalding iron into his flesh.

His keen hearing picked up the sound of footsteps, and he opened his eyes—only then realizing that he'd closed them—and turned to see Aragorn coming at him again, the iron freshly heated.

Panic took over as he tried to pull away, not wanting to feel such pain ever again.

The guards, though more than one looked thoroughly sickened by now, tightened their hold pinning him firmly in place once more, as the king pressed the iron into his right palm.

Legolas screamed as his flesh began to sizzle and smoke, the scent of it burning now causing a few of the guards to turn away and retch. The horses were beginning to distress, the smell telling them that they should flee if they did not wish to meet the same fate, the elf's screams confirming the urges of their instincts.

Eowyn had by now joined the queen in adverting her eyes. Tears streamed down her face as Legolas' screams cut her to the core. Arwen was sobbing into her shoulder as the two huddled together and tried to offer each other strength.

Faramir himself was no less affected. It took all his willpower not to wrench the branding iron out of Aragorn's hands and flee to Ithilien with the elf until the whole thing blew over and Aragorn could be made to listen to reason. Giving his a good bop over the head with the iron on their way out might not have been a bad idea either.

The king replaced the iron in the cauldron and looked down at the prince, who was gasping for breath and shaking uncontrollably. For a brief moment his eyes locked with the tortured blue depths of Legolas'. In them he could see the betrayal, the hurt, and the anguish of knowing that fate held nothing good in store for him.

Aragorn turned back to the cauldron, and picked up the second branding iron, this one identical to the others, except larger by half an inch at least. What right did the elf have to feel betrayed?

He motioned to one of the guards, his mind remarking that he might want to give this group the rest of the day off to recuperate once all of this was over. The man, his fellow soldiers as well, was looking decidedly ill.

The guard leaned down and undid the ties of Legolas' tunic and pulled the fabric open, exposing the pale expanse of the fair being's chest and stomach. The elf's already labored breathing hitched, and he struggled to keep from crying out at the injustice of it all.

The Valar must really hate him.

A shadow looming over him caused Legolas to look up; straight into the eyes of the one human he was certain would never forsake him. Aragorn's eyes were cold and ruthless. Legolas had seen that look before.

It was the one he reserved for his foulest enemies, the one he speared them with right before he dealt them whatever punishment he felt they deserved. There was no mercy in it. No hope for redemption whatsoever.

Looking into those eyes, Legolas felt something in him die. His body went slack and he stopped fighting, though he still shivered at the thought of that white-hot metal touching him ever again. But the fight in him was gone, as was any trust and love that had ever been between him and the Edan. It was over.

"Any and every title you ever bore is no longer yours, and you are forever marked for what you are: a traitor, and a murderer, and my enemy."

Legolas didn't even look at the man. He simply waited as he felt the heat of the iron come closer, a harbinger of the doom it was made to represent. He hadn't failed to notice the shape both branding rods had been fashioned into.

_Tinco_—the tengwar letter equivalent to the letter 't' in the alphabet used by the hobbits and many of the Edain.

'T'—for traitor.

The white-hot metal bit harshly into his skin, and he didn't even try to hold back. He screamed, releasing all of his pain and betrayal and grief to the heavens.

Then the iron was gone, and Legolas simply lay there, panting and sobbing in pain. Presently the guards released their hold on his neck and shoulders, and pushed him up so that he was kneeling once more. They quickly found that they were required to hold him up; his body was in too much shock to support itself.

Legolas clenched his eyes shut and groaned as the fresh wound in his chest sent agony as white-hot as the iron had been through his system. A clicking sound reached his ears just before he felt the collar around his neck fall away. The prince gulped down huge quantities of air, now that the restriction to his throat was gone.

Unfortunately, this freedom was short-lived, as the cool metal of a lighter collar was put in the heavier one's place. He had little time to ponder this, as it clicked shut and he almost immediately felt searing heat against the skin of his chin and throat.

The elf started, eyes flying wide open in panic as he expected the brand to burn a mark into his throat as well. But no mark was to be placed there. The guards held the prince fast as Thren crouched in front of him and carefully welded shut the collar's clasp. When he was sure it wouldn't come open again he passed the heated rod to his son, Reus. The young blacksmith handed his father a bowl of water and a ladle. Making sure the hot metal never touched the fair being's skin; he dripped the cool water over it. The metal hissed and steamed, but cooled within moments.

Satisfied with his work, though sick and saddened that the kind elf was being tormented so, the blacksmith stepped away. He was tempted to smile encouragingly at the poor creature, but he didn't, thinking that in his agonized state the elf wouldn't take it for what it was meant to be.

The guards let go, with the exception of one, who dragged the elf to his feet, shoving a cloak and pack into the immortal's hands as soon as his knees cleared the ground.

Legolas swayed, both of his legs were asleep after being deprived of proper blood flow, and his hands howled in torment at having anything touch them and being asked to move and grab onto an object in addition. He tried to shift the pack and cloak so that they draped over his arm instead, and hissed as the pain of even moving his wrists was too much to bear. In the end, all he could do was clench them in a death grip, for once he let go, there would not be any picking them up again.

"From this moment on you are banished from the kingdom of Gondor and are barred from entering the lands of her allies as well," Legolas looked up and through the haze of tears in his eyes saw Aragorn—no, Elessar—sitting astride Roheryn once more. "You have three days to reach the border. At dawn on the fourth day, patrols will be sent out to ensure that if you are still within the lands belonging to Gondor you will not leave them alive."

Legolas dropped his gaze and nodded his understanding.

Faramir sucked in a shuddering breath, fighting with all his might to keep from placing himself between elf and king and telling Elessar just what he thought of him at the moment. Next to him, Beregond reached out a hand, placing it briefly and discreetly on the Steward's knee in support. He wasn't altogether certain of Legolas' guilt or innocence, for him there were just too many unanswered questions, and he supported Faramir in his desire for furthered investigation into the matter. But if Faramir openly threw his lot in with Legolas' now, their chances of getting any of those questions answered were zero.

Faramir reached down and returned the brotherly gesture, gripping the man's arm and giving him a weak smile. His gaze then moved to where his wife was currently trying to consol Arwen. He sighed, knowing the rest of his day would be spent dealing with a distraught wife and possibly an even more distraught queen as well.

After she'd finished chewing Aragorn out first, that is.

His attention was once more brought to the gates, where the guard was undoing the shackles on Legolas' feet. Once those had fallen away, the man stepped back behind the ranks of twenty guards who'd kept their weapons trained on the fair being throughout the entire procedure.

It took Legolas a moment to realize that he was free and expected to leave. That realization apparently didn't come quick enough for one of the guards, who loosed an arrow into the dirt scant inches from the blonde's feet.

Legolas took the hint, and forced his hurting body to move, feet unsteadily taking him from everything that had given him a reason to fight the sea-longing and stay in Middle Earth. Now, he suddenly realized that the terms of him banishment also meant that he would never be allowed to set sail from the Grey Havens.

He choked on a sob as the very last tiny bit of hope he had dissolved into black despair. A thud vibrated through the ground from behind, and he knew without looking that the Great Gates had been closed.

Where could he go? When a person was cut off from everything as he now found himself, where did they go?

The lands to the south he had no desire to see. More than likely he'd die of exposure and thirst before he learned how to survive in such a wasteland, providing the locals didn't kill him first. The thought that he might die of grief before he really managed to get anywhere crossed his mind, but for some reason that didn't frighten him. If he died then he died, there was nothing he could really do about that. What truly scared him was the prospect of belonging nowhere. Traveling was a fine thing and the prince loved it, but he also loved having a home to go back to once he got tired.

Now he had nothing to go back to.

Legolas sighed. His chest still ached something fierce, as he knew it would for some time yet, and his hands had gone numb, though he had only to wait until he put down the pack and cloak before they began to add their complaints again.

He thought about his options. If he was being forced to start all over again—which, by the way, he was—where would he like to start over again that he wasn't now forbidden to go?

Rauros Falls came to mind, and with it the forest around Amon Hen, but that idea he discarded almost immediately. Faramir and Aragorn went there every year to visit the spot where Boromir had fallen and pay their respects to the man. He used to go with them, until now. He would not go there and risk being discovered. Even if it was unclaimed territory he had no desire ever to see the son of Arathorn again after what had taken place only minutes before.

To the east he would not go, and the south was already ruled out. West would lead him into the mountains, and Rohan.

So that left the north. Legolas would not settle on the Wetwang, but if he continued on Northwest he'd eventually reach the Misty Mountains. His heart clenched again as images of Rivendell and Mirkwood danced across his mind, as well as those of his father, Elrond and the twins. And of Estel, and of happier, carefree days when they were as close as blood kin, and the thought of betraying one another was an unspeakable evil.

Well, there was of course one time when they'd been forced to cast out poor Elrohir in order to flush out one of the many nutcases who'd somehow gotten it into his head that he could bring down the House of Elrond, but that had of course only been a ruse. Elrohir wasn't particularly happy when he found out that his ordeal had all been because he was the chosen bait, but he'd forgiven them after a few months, knowing that they'd only wished to cease the attacks on their family.

Legolas smiled in spite of himself. That had been quite the adventure. And they didn't even need to leave home to find it!

Tears welled up in his eyes, as he wondered what Elrohir and Elladan would have to say once they found out about his banishment. Honestly, he wasn't really certain he wanted to know. Seeing such a look of disgust and hatred on Aragorn had been bad enough. Seeing the same look on the twins' faces as well…

That really would drive him over the edge and into death. His mind also supplemented the same question in regards to his father and the hobbits and Gimli, and Legolas shook his head fiercely to make his thoughts travel different paths.

There were some things that were of more critical for him to be thinking of. Others, he'd rather not think of at all.

So, if the Misty Mountains were a no, then where else was there?

Where could he go that no one would ever find him? Where he could start over again completely and never have any more reminders of what he had lost than the brands, the collar, and his own memories.

The wind blew then, carrying with it a chill from the high peaks of the mountains. The chill, and the thought of snow from the high places brought to the surface of his mind a long forgotten passage he'd read long ago, while studying maps and the different peoples of Middle Earth with his tutor. Back when he used to spend more time in the great wood.

Far to the north of the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood and Angmar and the Grey Mountains there was a land as barren as the deserts of the south, but cold and icy as the tops of the mountains. Snow was almost perpetual there, save for the very height of summer. The people there were said to be strange. They had little to no contact with the lands south of their wintry world, nor did they care. Very little was known about them, and most of the information came from accounts in the second age, when the men of Numenor lost one of the Palatiri in the Icebay of Forochel.

Theirs was a world like nothing else in Middle Earth, and if ever Legolas wished for a new beginning, this was definitely his best chance at one. Of course the people of the north could turn him away, or worse, should they realize what his brands and the collar on his neck signified. But they could just as easily decide they didn't care, and give him a new life, one that was at least as removed as he could get from the terrible end of the life he knew before.

Hope may be frail, Elrond had once said, but it's almost impossible to kill.

Indeed, the Elven Lord's words rang true as hope flared in Legolas' heart once more, and he knew his decision was made. He would go north, his fate in the hands of the Valar and the people of icy Forodwaith.

With a direction to go in, Legolas lengthened his stride, determined to make the best of his three days and get out of Gondor.

Overhead, the sun looked down on the golden-haired elf, and on the White City that had forsaken him.

The guards on top of the wall watched the elf until he was out of sight.

The elf never looked back.

TBC…

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**A/N: **Well, when the plotbunny bit I didn't think it would bite that hard. Now at 12:45 at night and after more than half a day spent at my computer, this is the result. Let me know what you think, and whether or not I should continue. Should the answer be yes, next chapter will show the aftermath of Legolas' rather spectacular expulsion from Gondor, as well as how our intrepid elf is doing. And yes, people will be having words with Aragorn. _/grin/_

Farewell for now.


	2. Aftershock

**Title:** **Where Will You Go?**

**By: **Espree

**Rating:** Strong PG-13 ('T' on this site). This first chapter's about as violent as it's going to get (which is more than enough don't you think?).

**Timeline: **Post-ROTK, set in the fifth year of the Fourth Age. Legolas has not yet brought elves to Ithilien, and Eldarion has not yet been born. Gimli, in addition, has not yet moved into the Glittering Caves.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or anything created and copyrighted by Tolkien and New Line Cinema, I simply got bored and my muse decided to have a little fun with the characters. I'm making no profit from this, not now or ever. So don't sue, please.

**Feedback: **Yes, please, but no flames. If you don't like the story go read something else, don't waste your time and mine yelling at me because this isn't your cup of tea, so to speak. Constructive criticism is welcome, though.

**Summary:** Banished from Gondor and hunted by those he once called his dearest friends, Legolas must fight for survival if he is to see his name cleared of the terrible crimes for which he has been framed. He finds refuge in Forodwaith, the icy land of the far north, while some friends who have not given up on his innocence struggle to bring the real culprit to justice. But even if they succeed, can they find Legolas? And will they be able to convince him to come home; or has their friendship been ruined forever?

**Warnings:** Death, torture, angst, all that good stuff you've probably come to expect from a fic like this by now. In addition this story is non-slash, and any non-hetero love mentioned is brotherly/sisterly love, savvy?

**A/N: **Are you all thoroughly horrified, confused and just plain outraged now? You are? Good! Then you were paying attention last chapter. Now I know what you are all thinking… A.) Aragorn was major OOC and would never do anything so horrible to anyone, Legolas least of all. (Hmmm… maybe I should have entitled that chap "How To Tell There's Something Seriously Wrong With Your King" instead.) B.) Aragorn can't ban Legolas from Mirkwood or from sailing to the Undying Lands. C.) The king is in some serious trouble as far as the elves are concerned (not to mention just about everyone else, on that subject) D.) Legolas _would_ realize that he could still go home to his father or sail to the West.

Well, you're all right, as you already know. However there is _always_ a method behind the madness as far as my fics are concerned. Many of them may not be clear or make any sense at first, but they will be addressed and cleared up at some point ere the fic is done. Besides, if I never left you stewing in the dark for a while, where would all the excitement and suspense be? Nowhere.

And I hate unnecessary OOC, and make every attempt to avoid it as much as I can. In fact my perfectionism regarding the portrayal of Tolkien's beloved characters, as well as any and every other character I've ever tried to write in fanfics, is something which has greatly fueled my erratic and unreliable nature regarding updates. If the characters don't sound right to me, I won't post until they do. Unless their OOC-ness was intentional, as Aragorn's was in chapter one. So now that we're all cleared up on that let me first remind you that after having suffered as severe a physical and mental trauma as Legolas did in chapter one he's not going to be thinking very clearly at the moment. His mind has latched on to Aragorn's words and he's simply determined to find a place amongst the few Aragorn did not "ban" him from where he'll never see the king again, the king won't have a reason to even think of coming after him, and where he's very likely not to be found by anyone else who tries to find him. Let's face it, when someone has been through something that devastating, they tend not to want to have contact with anyone and shy away from people, especially those with any similarities (singular or multiple, obvious or not) or connections to the one or ones that hurt them. With someone with as distinctly proud a personality as Legolas has, it gets even worse.

But let's let everyone speak for themselves, shall we?

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**Chapter 2: Aftershock**

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The sound of the great gates closing rang in Faramir's ears as if it were the closing of a prison door, sealing the doom of those trapped behind it. '_Or the one it's trying to keep out,' _Faramir thought. As Steward he was bound to back up Aragorn's actions as king, and defend him from both the rest of the world and also from himself. Something which he had quite spectacularly failed to do just now.

As his mind came out of the reeling shock that had obliterated most coherent thought for the past several moments, he realized the enormity of what had just taken place.

'_We are in serious trouble,'_ was all his mind could supply him with as panic and fear began to set in. What Aragorn had just done could very well destroy the peace they had all worked so hard for, and send them straight back into a war quite possibly as serious as the Kinslaying begun by Feanor and his sons and followers.

He looked at Aragorn, who was sitting on his horse with such a grave countenance and wrathful look in his eye that the Prince of Ithilien was fearful of him. Long had he suspected that not was right within the mind of the king, and now he had proof beyond any reasonable doubt.

As if he could feel the eyes of his Steward upon him, Aragorn turned to look upon the younger son of the late Denethor II, staring at him with a glint of challenge in his eyes, as if daring him to speak out against his actions. And speak Faramir did.

"Aragorn, you and I need to speak with one another. Alone," he added before breaking eye contact and turning to the two ladies who looked quite ready to bolt at any moment. Though he had to admit to himself that he couldn't quite decide whether they would run away and hide until Aragorn came back to a better representation of sanity, or attack him outright and simply beat some sense into him. Arwen looked quite undecided, and the only thing that seemed to be holding back Eowyn's impending bout of violence was her worry that the queen seemed ready to fall from her horse if no one was there to steady her.

"Eowyn?" he called. When he saw he had her attention he continued, "Take the queen back to our rooms for now. I'll be in to check up on you later."

Arwen's head shot up, the intensity of her gaze leaving no doubt in Faramir's mind that she was the Lady of the Golden Wood's granddaughter. "You may speak with him _after_ I have, Lord Faramir."

Faramir nodded mutely, and moved his mount out of her way as she urged her mare into a slow, dignified jog. "Let's go, Elessar."

Aragorn looked incensed that his queen would have the audacity to give him orders in public and opened his mouth to tell her so. Before he could get a word out, however, the queen turned back and speared him with a _look _that almost could have put even Galadriel's most furious glares to shame. Showing the first bit of wisdom he had in what seemed like forever to Faramir, the king closed his mouth and simply followed her.

Eowyn drew her stallion alongside her husband's horse, and he could see in her eyes that she was inwardly cheering Arwen on. Faramir had to admit he would very much hate to be the one the fair Evenstar ever got truly angry at. Arwen was, as elves often were, normally very easy-going and difficult to ruffle, but should one ever provoke her temper they were in for a rather rude awakening as to just how terrifying the Firstborn were in their full fury. (1)

At the thought of the fury of the elves, Faramir felt a chill go through his blood and he visibly shivered, though being late spring the morning weather was pleasantly warm. However the weather was the least of his concerns. What came first on his newly acquired list of worries was what would happen when the other elven nations got wind of this. Thranduil's wrath was legendary, and though weakened as his army was from the War of the Ring, he would not hesitate to launch an assault upon the equally-weakened Gondor. Lothlorien would not take kindly to the news either. Rivendell he couldn't be certain, as it was mostly empty these days after Elrond's departure. And the Grey Havens he couldn't even begin to guess, though he could fully expect at least an inquisition from them regarding Aragorn's audacity in thinking he could bar an elf from setting sail.

And what of their other allies? Gimli would be as equally furious as Thranduil, and Faramir made a mental note to find a way to ensure that the dwarf's axe was well hidden from him ere he was told the news of his friend. Nowadays their relations with the dwarves were far greater than they were before, and their alliance ever growing stronger. Without Gimli, that could possibly take a turn for the worse, as his people now considered him as much a hero as they considered his friendship with the elves (and the son of Thranduil in particular) strange.

The Shire would probably close itself off completely from the rest of the kingdom, as it had not done since before the war, not wanting to deal with a mad king, and the hobbits of the Fellowship would furiously protest Aragorn's actions. And a furious hobbit could be quite a force to reckon with, as Faramir remembered.

Rohan, well… there he was truly at a loss, but he knew Eomer himself would be just as enraged as his sister.

Faramir sighed, feeling a headache coming on. This was going to be quite a long day.

A light touch to his forearm caused him to look up into Eowyn's eyes. "I think we should inform our friends and my brother of this before Aragorn has a chance to send out messengers. If they read of his sentencing of Legolas before they know the full tale things will go very ill very fast."

"My thoughts exactly, my dear. But the question remains regarding how we can do so. Aragorn is clearly not in his right mind and Arwen is still grieving the loss of her child. She may have the strength to deal with Elessar's actions at the moment, but I worry for her should she be left to deal with him alone for the time it would take to inform all of the people who need to be informed."

Eowyn looked surprised. "What are you saying?"

Faramir smiled at her. "What I am saying, my dear, is that I think such a matter calls for you and I to deliver such dire news to our friends personally, rather than let them read it in a letter. They will be distraught and angry and 'tis better if we are there to comfort and sooth as we will undoubtedly be needed."

"Aye, and I would like to hear my brother's council myself, for I find myself at a loss for how we shall deal with the elven nations when they hear of our king's treatment of one of their princes," Eowyn's gaze darkened at the thought of war between Gondor and the elves.

"I would as well, but I believe it would be better to hear such straight from the horse's mouth, as you would probably say in you homeland."

The Lady of Ithilien's brow furrowed at that. "Actually I'm not really sure who started that particular saying. But I can say for sure that I have doubts it was the Rohhirim." Faramir couldn't help but laugh, the sound earning an inquisitive glare from the queen, who heard him even though she and her husband rode a good fifteen strides ahead. He silenced himself before Aragorn's attention was drawn as well.

"Do you mean to say that we are going to inform the elves ourselves, Faramir?" Eowyn asked.

Faramir nodded. "In a sense, and actually I shall be the one who informs them."

"Speak clearly, for we are nearly at the palace, where our conversation may have to be postponed until we are where we can be sure Aragorn will not get wind of this," she counseled.

The Steward nodded. "You and I shall ride forth to speak with your brother, then go our separate ways and between the two of us inform everyone who will need to become either informed or involved."

"We could leave Beregond with the queen," Eowyn suggested. Faramir shook his head at this. "No. Beregond was 'banished' from Minas Tirith and into my company for his disobedience of my father's commands when he thought me dead and was going to burn us both. In the past Aragorn has never kept Beregond from coming here with me, or bothered him about the incident. Truly he only did what he did because rules are rules when it comes to soldiers obeying their superiors. He meant Beregond no ill will then, and gave him the chance to better continue his loyalty to me," Faramir smiled as he thought of his trusted companion and friend, who was now Captain of his guards. He shook his head. "But in the state of mind Aragorn's in now, I do not trust him to leave Beregond alone. If he could publicly humiliate, torture, and banish Legolas as we just witnessed, I shudder to think what he could do if he decided that Beregond was breaking his banishment by being here without myself or you present."

"True," Eowyn agreed. "Then we shall simply have to take him with us."

To say that Arwen was incensed, was to make a severe understatement. Not even an eruption of Mount Doom could match her fury as she stormed through the halls of her home towards her and Aragorn's private chambers. Aragorn himself trailed a distance behind, causing her to wonder if the true severity of his actions was sinking in, or if he simply did not wish to exert himself trying to keep up with her anger-fueled stride.

When she had thrown open the doors and came to halt in the center of the sitting room, she bowed her head and took a deep breath, attempting to find some inner piece that would allow her to refrain from raging on incoherently and actually carry on an intelligent argument.

Footsteps behind her alerted the queen to her husband's arrival, and she took one last deep, calming breath. "I can't believe you," she began softly, though there was no mistaking the tone in her voice.

Aragorn's voice carried over from just inside the door. "And what do you mean by that?"

She almost made a grab for Hadhafang, before reminding herself that not only was her father's sword packed away in a chest in her bedchamber, but that such an action would do little to help right now. "I can not believe you hold your friends so cheaply, Elessar."

"I hold them as dear as they do me," Aragorn replied.

Arwen whirled to face him. "Then tell me that_spectacle_ out there was just a bad dream. Tell me that it was no more than a nightmare and that I may wake and find all as it should be. That I'll find you and Legolas and Faramir laughing and joking and carrying on like teenagers again. That the past few weeks were no more than a bit of indigestion. That what I witnessed today could only happen in such vicious places as Umbar and Harad!"

A tear welled up and she fought to suppress it. "That I'll wake up and find that the kind, caring man who would rather die than even dream of laying a finger on one of those he counted as dear to him is holding me and telling me that I'm just being silly. What happened Aragorn? What has befallen you that you would become no better than Feanor, and cause such hurt to one you call brother?" (2)

Aragorn's eyes narrowed. "Cause hurt to one I call brother? Why do you not ask Legolas that! It was he who hurt me, Arwen, not the other way around."

"I can't after what you've done! How can you be so sure it was him! Everything that has happened has been nothing more than one coincidence after another. Alone I would have called them simply bad luck, but the night I lost the baby was just too much. Aragorn, someone's after us."

"Do you think me a fool? I've known that for weeks! And I've been trying to protect us and find the assassin since then. And now that I have you are angry with me?" Aragorn looked as though he couldn't figure out what was going on.

"I am angry because rather than find out the truth, you simply jumped to conclusions and pinned it on the first person available," Arwen said.

"Legolas was at the heart of every incident that occurred. Everything that went wrong, he was involved in somehow," Aragorn shook his head. "I told you what I found the night you were attacked."

Here the debate got tricky. Arwen knew that the key lay in the gaping blackness that was her memory of that terrible night. So long as she could not remember Aragorn would only have Legolas' word regarding what had transpired after she had decided to retire for the night, and his own account of coming into the room to find her lying unconscious and terribly wounded on the floor as Legolas stood over her with a bloody blade. Arwen shook her head. Though her husband would never lie to her, her heart told her that there was more to it than that. Legolas had protested against the accusations, saying that someone else had attacked her and he had tried to save her.

Between believing her own heart and instincts, and the word of her love who throughout this whole ordeal had become less like himself each passing day, she would put her trust in her heart and instincts. And they told her that Legolas had been telling the truth, which meant that the one who wanted the royal family dead was still out there, roaming free. And able to attack and kill again.

"You told me one story, Aragorn," she said, "and Legolas told me another. One that was far more plausible in my eyes than yours. You did not witness all that took place before you came, and if Legolas truly wanted anyone dead there are far quicker and easier ways for him to do so. He doesn't fit the method of operation being used here Aragorn, and I hope you'll see that before it's too late."

Aragorn stalked up to stand before her. "I am not wrong. It was him, and I was a fool for ever counting him as one close to me."

"No, you were wrong and a fool to accuse him, humiliate him, hurt him, and punish him for something he did not do! Has it not occurred to you just how far out of line you have stepped, Husband?" she pierced him with a scathing gaze. "You have committed a wrong that could be considered an act of war! You know Thranduil as well as I, do you really think he will believe your word over that of his son's? That he will turn Legolas away? You may be able to banish Legolas from the reunited kingdom, but you cannot ban him from a realm in which he is next in line for the throne, nor can you ban him from any other elven nation. And Thranduil and his kin will turn on you for this. Our alliance with them will be no more, and we will be lucky to escape war with them!"

"Even if Thranduil marches on us, his army is too weakened from the fight against Gol Guldur to do us any damage," Aragorn said.

"Our armies are just as decimated! And we are stretched even more thinly having to continue the border fights with the Haradrim."

"But we have allies to strengthen us," Aragorn insisted.

"Lorien will not aid us; their alliance is first and foremost with Eryn Lasgalen. If war breaks out between us and Thranduil, Celeborn will either not become involved at all, or, considering the grievance committed and your arrogance, he will march with the elves of the greenwood against us," Arwen maintained. "And don't think of mentioning Rohan next. Eomer has a country to rebuild and cannot empty it out and march over here whenever you feel the need to get into trouble. He has his own alliances with the elves and he will not forsake them for your madness."

"Imladris will answer." Arwen couldn't believe her ears.

"Imladris will answer? Imladris will answer! I will be shocked if Elladan and Elrohir ever call you 'brother' again, let alone defend you! Legolas was as dear to them as he was to you, and they will not see such 'evidence', as you call it, as you do. Even if they did, they would _never_ condone your treatment of him! They and my father did not raise you to be cruel to others Aragorn, and in my eyes you have shamed them this day."

Her gaze lowered, as the tears she'd been able to hold back thus far threatened to fall with renewed force. "You have shamed me as well," her eyes rose, with one last bit of determination, "And the Fellowship and everything it stood for. By your actions everything so many have fought and died and sacrificed has been threatened. There cannot be peace if you start another war, and I will not stay to see you ruin the fruits of everyone's efforts."

With that she brushed by him and walked away, her head held high. At the door she paused. "When the man I married… The man I gave up my immortality and forsook what was my birthright to be with returns, so shall I. I pray that be soon, before you add any more such deeds as this morning's to your conscious, and I pray that Estel is not gone forever." (3)

And then she was gone, leaving a stunned and bewildered king in her wake.

Eowyn stood, gazing out at as much of the Pelennor Fields as the window of her and Faramir's rooms would allow. It actually was a good bit of them, for which she was grateful this day, though ultimately it did her spirits little good. The one she wished to see out there was nowhere to be seen, something that she could not decide as being good or bad.

It meant that Legolas was not so badly off that he had collapsed once out of the range of the wall guards' bows, and was still able to get away from here and Elessar's wrath, but it also meant that he truly was gone.

And the chances of her ever seeing him again were so minute it made her want to weep. She was no fool. Aragorn could bar no elf the right to sail from these shores. Legolas would see this, and if he did not return to his father's lands to live out the remainder of his years on Middle earth within the borders of his homeland—another place Aragorn could not keep him from, she mused—he would travel to the Grey Havens and leave.

She wondered if perhaps that would not be kinder for him.

He suffered from the sea's constant call; that much was obvious. But he made a vow to stay so long as his mortal friends still lived unless the sea longing became so severe that he must set sail or go irrevocably mad. Would he still keep it after this morning? Aragorn had wronged him, and had he been his only mortal friend she was certain the fair woodland elf would not hesitate to leave. But he had other friends, many other friends.

Gimli, whom he counted as dear to him as his own kin. Merry, and Sam, and Pippin, for whom he made sure to be present whenever they came to visit and was always delighted to see. Eomer, with whom he always loved to go riding with and laughingly debate over whose people were the better horsemen. Elladan and Elrohir, who were as much surrogate brothers to him as they were friends. Arwen, whom he had much respect for and regarded almost as a younger sister.

And of course there was herself and Faramir.

Would Legolas stay for all of them? Or was it simply too much to hope for now?

A hand at her shoulder made her start and give a soft curse, until she saw it was only Faramir. Still inwardly kicking herself for becoming so distracted she had not noticed his approach, the Lady of Ithilien leaned into his embrace, gratefully taking the comfort he offered and lamenting all the more that she could not offer the same to the hurting friend who somewhere out there needed it far more than she.

"Are you alright, Eowyn?"

She sighed. "As alright as I can be. I can't stand this, Faramir. I want to go find him, when we ride out. I want to find him and let him know that he has only been forsaken by one friend, not all. I want to make sure he is alright and know that he is safe and his wounds cared for."

Faramir laughed. "You make it sound as though he was your son."

Eowyn didn't laugh, though she did agree that she did sound rather mothering. "I want to help him, Faramir. I want to know that he is going to be okay."

"I do too, my love. But we cannot go looking for him. We have to tell the others this tale so that they may be of help to us, and we have to find a way to bring our king back to his true self," Faramir's heart clenched. Even though he knew it to be the road they must travel, he wished it were not so. He was of one mind with his wife in wanting nothing more than to go rescue their friend, but for now the needs of the many would have to outweigh the needs of the few, until they had diverted the impending disaster looming over Gondor.

"I know, but it is a bitter pill to swallow," the fair lady in his arms murmured.

Faramir could only nod, as he willed himself to wake and find this all naught but a dream.

The door burst open, and Arwen stumbled into the room. Eowyn untangled herself from the steward's arms and ran to her aid. Catching her before she could fall on her face, she led the queen over to a chair and sat her down, pulling another close and sitting in front of her, rubbing Arwen's cold hands between her own.

"What happened, my lady?" Faramir asked, joining them.

"I'll be alright. I spoke with Elessar, and the conversation taxed me emotionally."

"What did he say, Arwen?" Eowyn queried. Arwen shook her head. "I know not what has happened to him. He is not my Estel anymore. He did not seem to care when I spoke of the fact that Thranduil would not take his treatment of Legolas kindly, and that Gondor's alliance with Eryn Lasgalen would end. He merely said that we have other allies who would aid us in war against the wood elves. I told him he was mad to think any of the elves would help us, more the opposite if they chose to get involved at all, and that Eomer can not afford to chance his alliance with them."

Eowyn's brow furrowed. "And what had he to say to that?"

Arwen choked back a sob. "He said that my brothers and Rivendell would help him."

She buried her face in her hands. "How could he even for a moment think such a thing? Imladris will not ride against Eryn Lasgalen unless the elves of the Wood themselves wronged them greatly. And Elladan and Elrohir will likely never again count Aragorn as anything more than an in-law after they find out what he did to Legolas."

Her eyes came up to meet Eowyn's. "What happened? What has caused him to become so cruel and uncaring?"

Eowyn's heart went out to her and Faramir shook his head sadly. _What happened?_ That was the question everyone was asking, and the question no one could find an answer to. It just didn't make any sense that someone as dynamic as Aragorn could just take such a turn of personality in so short a time. Even grief and turmoil as the palace had been through lately could not be the only cause. Not for something as severe as this. Surely there must be some plausible explanation.

Now Faramir was more torn than ever. Arwen could not handle things here with Aragorn on her own, and it was obvious that if left alone Aragorn would bring the entire country down with whatever madness that had taken hold of him.

They needed help, and they needed it before things could deteriorate beyond redemption. The only way they could get it, would be to leave and bring help back with them.

"My lady," Faramir said, crouching down next to Eowyn's chair so that he was more eye-level with her. "I feel that the situation has grown out of our control, and I think you will agree with me when I say that we need to bring in help from the outside if we are to see our king whole and well again."

Arwen nodded, and Faramir continued. "Eowyn and I, with your permission, as Aragorn is hardly in the state of mind where I would go to him for anything, wish to ride out and inform our allies personally of what has transpired-"

"Rather than have them be informed by a messenger of Aragorn's which will set this entire thing off like one of Gandalf's fireworks," Eowyn interjected.

"Precisely," Faramir said.

Arwen nodded. "I will give you my permission to leave. Where will you be going first?"

"First we go together with Beregond to Edoras, and speak with my brother," Eowyn answered. "Then Beregond and I shall ride north and see Gimli while Faramir rides to Rivendell and then to the Shire."

"We will also need to inform Celeborn and Imrahil," Faramir added, to which Arwen agreed.

"Yes, if anything go speak with Imrahil first. Tell him that if he is able I would have his aid while you are gone. I will not even pretend I can handle him by myself."

There was no need to specify who 'he' was.

"I shall go to Lothlorien and speak with Celeborn," Eowyn said. "But what of Thranduil?"

"And Cirdan," Faramir added. "Since this affair so closely involves the elves I hardly think it wise or fair that we not include him."

"You can send word to Cirdan from Rivendell or the Shire. As for Thranduil… I counsel that we wait, and inform him last, after we have heard from everyone else and have the means with which to stop the Woodland King from going down the warpath," Arwen answered.

"You mean Lord Celeborn," Eowyn remarked wryly. Few there were that could stand up to Thranduil when such a rage took him, and Celeborn was one of the even fewer still residing in Arda. Without him there would be little they could do to placate the Woodland King.

The queen couldn't help but smile. "Yes."

"When do you plan to leave?" she asked, as the thought occurred to her.

"I will first go to Dol Amroth and retrieve Imrahil," Faramir said. "Eowyn will wait here with you. When he and I return we shall leave the day after."

"Sounds as though we have a plan to me," Arwen said, standing. "Thank you both; I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Demand that your brothers moved in to help you maintain your sanity?" Eowyn quipped.

Arwen gave her a stricken look.

"What?" Eowyn asked, wondering what it was she had said.

"Did it not occur to you just _why_ I spent almost all of my years in Lothlorien after my father took Estel in?"

They all laughed at that, as images of the tales they had heard of the infamous adventures of the twins and Aragorn—and later on Legolas—came to the forefront of their minds. None of them envied Lord Elrond all the headaches, stress, sleepless nights, and near heart attacks that his sons and their friends had given him throughout those years.

Loro cursed as his plow once again sank too deep, catching in the mud and halting his progress for what seemed like the five hundredth time since he'd begun that morning. Spring was moving on, and if he wanted to ensure a good crop before the frost, these seeds needed to be planted by the end of the week. He glared at the offending plow, hoping against hope that it would spontaneously leap up and start moving again.

Of course, nothing of the sort happened.

Shaking his head, the middle-aged human let go of the handles and crouched down to once again dig the infernal contraption out of the deeper mud so that the mule could pull it free and they could continue on. Hopefully they'd actually manage to finish this particular field within the next day or so.

Sucking in a deep breath he stuck his hands under the blade and hoisted up, bracing with his heels stuck deep in the soil. With a cluck and a whistle, the mule walked forward. Loro made certain to be quick to let go once the plow was free so that he wouldn't lose his fingers. Wiping the sweat from his brow and sighing, he caught up to animal and plow and once again took up his place behind both.

Not too long after, the mule stopped dead in its tracks, and since they were of course in one of the softer parts of the field when it happened, the plow once again sank too deep and got stuck. Once again Loro cursed, and when he saw how deep the plow had sunk this time, he threw his hands up in disgust and began to unhitch the mule. Without help, he'd never get the darned thing out now, and even if he did it'd take too long for him to hope to get anything more done that day.

Leaving the plow as it was he left the field, mule in tow, and began the trek back to the house. He'd get back to work in the morning.

Deciding he was sick of trying to wade across the boggy fields, Loro instead walked him and the mule back to the main road that ran along the border of the western edge of his property. As he walked, intent on simply putting the work animal away and sitting on the porch with his pipe, he quite missed the figure lying face-down on the roadside. The mule however, snorted and sidestepped, casting a wary glace at the prone creature.

Loro was quite unprepared for the mule's reaction, and got his shoulder wrenched a bit as the animal's sidestep placed him behind the man, almost putting the human between himself and the unmoving body.

"And just _what _is your problem?" he asked crossly, glaring first at the mule and then followed his line of vision to the figure.

"Oy! Are you alright?" he asked. When he received no answer (not that he'd been expecting one); he let go of the mule and moved closer. Giving the body a nudge with his foot he shook his head and crouched down.

Long, blonde hair spilled across the man's back and onto the road. His shirt seemed loose against his frame, indicating it was either torn, unfastened, or absurdly big on him. He frowned. Looking at the quality of the cloth he could see that though a bit dusty it was well kept and of obviously fine make. These were no peasant clothes. The well cared for condition of his hair spoke of one who could afford the time to care for it properly. The intricate braids attested to the idea that the man lived in a world where being fashionable was a must. This was undoubtedly one who probably spent his time in a nobleman's court; if he was not of noble birth himself.

Intrigued, Loro reached for the man's shoulder, and pulled him over onto his back. Underneath him lay a pack and cloak, of good quality but not nearly as fine as the rest of his attire. Skin and features far fairer than most humans could be seen despite the dirt picked up from lying in the road, but it was the stranger's chest that drew the farmer's attention.

An angry dark depression could be seen in the skin right over his heart, the skin around it red and obviously burned as well. Loro gasped at the design it made in the man's skin. He looked at the other's face, noting the silver collar around his neck and the pointed ears.

"An elf," he murmured. "And obviously one who got himself in a fair bit of trouble, by the looks of it."

He shook his head and stood. "I hope you manage to get back on your feet, my friend, but I'll not bring trouble into my house."

With that he got up and walked over to the mule, grabbing his lead once more and clucking to him.

When he got up to the house he put the animal away and went inside. His wife stood at the hearth, putting a loaf of bread into the oven. She looked over at the sound of the door opening. "Plow actin' up again?" she asked.

"Stuck good 'n deep," he replied.

"What were you looking at out on the road?"

"What?" Loro looked at her in surprise.

"I saw you through the window. Jay saw something, and you bent down for a good while looking at it. I want to know what was so interesting that you actually took the time to examine it."

Loro grumbled to himself. He should have known she would have seen him. There wasn't much she didn't see, after all. But knowing her she'd want to help, and he really didn't want any trouble as that elf out there was bound to bring in. His wife tapped her foot, getting impatient with him.

"Alright, it was one of them elves. Passed out on the road."

She leveled an eyebrow at him. "Elves don't simply 'pass out on the road'. What was wrong with him?"

Inwardly Loro cursed. "He had a fresh brand on his chest. Nice big one, too. Apparently the pain got the best of him."

His wife's eyes blazed. "And you left him out there?" she practically screeched.

Damn, now there was no way he'd get away with leaving the creature out there.

"Sala, there's a collar on him too. If he's not some criminal then he's somebody's slave. I really don't want any trouble for bringing him in."

Sala was having nothing of it. "Well if you won't help him then I will."

She hung her apron on a hook and marched out the door, heading for the mule's paddock. "Here Jay!" she called. The mule lazed its way over, willing to obey but not wanting to go back to work.

She grabbed his halter and tied a lead rope on. Then she led him out of the paddock and down the road. It didn't take her long to spot the elf, and she increased her pace, pulling the reluctant Jay behind her.

When she got to him she knelt down and examined the brand on the fair being's chest. Sala hissed. Whoever had done the branding obviously didn't know what they were doing, or was rather inexperienced, for the brand was deeper than necessary and the edges slightly torn where the brand had begun to fuse to the skin before it had been taken away. The area around it was blistered, and obviously would be quite painful when the elf woke up.

Sala gazed at his fair face, noting the closed eyes. "Who was so cruel as to do this to you my friend?" she wondered out loud. Checking him over for any other wounds she found the two slightly smaller but identical brands on the palms of his hands. Sala hissed in sympathy. They were much the same as the one on his chest and obviously done by the same person.

Shaking her head sadly Sala pulled Jay closer to the elf's body. She then stood looking down at him, wondering how she was going to get him up onto the mule's back. Normally she'd simply hoist him up and plop him face down across Jay's back, but doing so would both aggravate and possibly tear the edges of the chest brand.

"So how are we going to do this?" a voice at her shoulder asked. She started. So intent was she on the elf that she hadn't even noticed her husband's approach.

"The best way would be to sit him astride and then let him lean back so the brand's not touching anything," Sala replied, recovering quickly from her shock.

Loro nodded. "Well then let's get him inside at least before someone sees us."

Sala was about to remark that there was no one nearby to see them, but not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth she simply accepted his help in whatever manner he was willing to give it. A moment later they had the elf carefully loaded onto Jay's back and were walking slowly back to the house so neither his wounds nor his head and neck would be jarred more than necessary by his awkward position.

As they went Sala began to run through her mind the care their new guest would need over the course of his stay, being very grateful the entire time that she had trained and worked as a healer for years before marrying and moving out to one of the more lonely corners of the plains. However this was going to be a challenge for her skills, as brands and elves were not things she'd ever had to deal with before.

For that she was also grateful for her love of a good challenge.

Loro was glad that at least he would not be the one taking care of the elf. At least if someone came calling about the being, he could simply turn a blind eye and say that he was not involved with any such creature. Technically he wasn't—his wife was. So long as he had nothing more to do with the creature after they'd gotten him into the house, that is.

He found that the arrangement suited him very well, actually.

**-**

**TBC…**

**-**

**(1)** Even though Arwen technically is human after deciding to stay with Aragorn and share a mortal fate with him, she was still raised as a princess of elves, and therefore it is only her body that is human. She'll still act like an elf, look fairer than human women and all that, including having the famed wrath of the elves.

**(2) **This is in refference to the Kinslaying started by Feanor over the Silmarillion. There were three kinslayings alltogether, though Feanor only took part in the first. All three were characterized by the fact that only the elves took part in them, fighting and slaying their own kind.

**(3) **This is a double entendre on Arwen's part, for those of you who didn't pick it up. Aragorn was named in his youth 'Estel' by Lord Elrond to conceal his true identity as the son of Arathorn and heir to the throne. Many people who knew him in his youth and of his childhood in Rivendell still call him 'Estel', which you should know by now is elvish (sindarin) for 'hope'. Arwen especially reffered to him as Estel, and in the appendix of ROTK her last words to Aragorn as he died were calling the name Estel, trying to keep him from departing from this world. In this chapter she is both saying that she prays that hopeforthings turning out alright is not gone by his actions, and hope that her Estel, the man she fell in love with before either knew he was heir to Gondor, is not lost to this new, crueler pesonality.

**A/N: **Well that seems like it's a good place to stop. It's now 1:55 in the morning and I'm exhausted, so if the content's not perfectly edited I apologize in advance. I'll look it over more thoroughly tomorrow—er—this afternoon. This chapter was just mostly dialogue, but as one reviewer so kindly pointed out to me—I had a lot of explaining to do. So while I can't explain everything to you (there wouldn't be a story if I did), I can at least clear a few things up that I was planning to clear up almost immediately anyways. Such as the fact that everyone being in-character except for Aragorn wasn't an accident, which I stated in the beginning of the chap anyways. I also know that much of the dialogue in the beginning regarding Arwen, Faramir and Eowyn especially was repetitive. This was further to emphasis that everyone is thoroughly worried and confused as to why their king's suddenly gone bipolar on them. But I think I've rambled on enough. I'm hoping that chapters will continue to let themselves be written as quickly as this one has. In any case though, I plan to do what I'm doing with my other stories and update whatever I have written the second weekend after the last post. That way you'll have an update about every two weeks at the most, and if anything happens that will disrupt this schedule, you can read about it on my livejournal. Reviewer responses, for those of you who do not know, can be found on my livejournal page, and are put up when I post each new chapter.

So for now I am going to thank you all profusely for your wonderful feedback, and hope that it continues, as it really is a help to me in my writing, as well as a great source of inspiration. Nemarie until next time.


	3. Of Tides and Races

**Title:** **Where Will You Go?**

**By: **Espree

**Rating:** Strong PG-13 ('T' on this site). This first chapter's about as violent as it's going to get (which is more than enough don't you think?).

**Timeline: **Post-ROTK, set in the fifth year of the Fourth Age. Legolas has not yet brought elves to Ithilien, and Eldarion has not yet been born. Gimli, in addition, has not yet moved into the Glittering Caves.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings or anything created and copyrighted by Tolkien and New Line Cinema, I simply got bored and my muse decided to have a little fun with the characters. I'm making no profit from this, not now or ever. So don't sue, please.

**Feedback: **Yes, please, but no flames. If you don't like the story go read something else, don't waste your time and mine yelling at me because this isn't your cup of tea, so to speak. Constructive criticism is welcome, though.

**Summary:** Banished from Gondor and hunted by those he once called his dearest friends, Legolas must fight for survival if he is to see his name cleared of the terrible crimes for which he has been framed. He finds refuge in Forodwaith, the icy land of the far north, while some friends who have not given up on his innocence struggle to bring the real culprit to justice. But even if they succeed, can they find Legolas? And will they be able to convince him to come home; or has their friendship been ruined forever?

**Warnings:** Death, torture, angst, all that good stuff you've probably come to expect from a fic like this by now. In addition this story is non-slash, and any non-hetero love mentioned is brotherly/sisterly love, savvy?

**-**

**-**

**-**

**Chapter 3: Of Tides and Races**

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Waves crashed in their never-ending pattern against the sand. The roar of the water and the sizzle of foam were as a balm to Imrahil's soul as he gazed out at the horizon. Many he had seen balk and stare in fearful awe at the sheer magnitude of the ocean the first time they saw it, claiming it to be a terrible and tumulus creature.

Imrahil smiled and shook his head. True, the sea did have her moments of temper, no doubt of that. But he had always felt calm and at peace around her. So long as he respected the simple rule that the sea loved and hated none and his continued existence was determined by his own prudence, he found that there was no place in the world he'd rather be.

The call of the gulls overhead turned his smile from one of fondness, to one of wry and somewhat irritated tolerance. Though the elves found the call of the gulls to be an invitation to leave this world behind and go home, he found them to be quite annoying after a time. And the bird's themselves were even worse than their voices.

Irritating, viciously territorial, and mean spirited, anyone who spent any significant amount of time around the seashore learned that seagulls were a pain and were simply to be nothing more than tolerated to the best of one's ability, not to mention made good target practice for bored guards trying to protect their lunches when they thought their superiors weren't looking.

Imrahil had made it perfectly clear to his men that he did not condone seagull hunting, and that if they were going to shoot at the birds that it had better be on their own time and well away from the notice of their superiors, or there would be consequences that they assuredly wouldn't like.

The sound of a throat being cleared behind him alerted him to the presence of another, and he briefly berated himself for being so caught up in his own thoughts that he had not taken notice of the man sooner.

"My lord, Lord Faramir of Ithilien has arrived."

Imrahil nodded, not turning to look at the servant. "Escort him here."

"Yes, my liege." The servant left, and Imrahil found himself once more alone with naught but the sound of the sea to sooth his thoughts as his mind began to tread down darker paths. Not four days ago a messenger bird had arrived with a letter from the Steward of Gondor, expressing an urgency to meet with him as soon as possible to discuss something that was troubling the king as of late. Any more than that Faramir would not say, however Imrahil, looking out over the countless fields of waves, had the distinct feeling that the turmoil of the waters would look as but a tranquil pond when compared to their own lives in the near future.

As he stood lost in thought once more, the servant returned, this time with Faramir in tow.

"Lord Imrahil?" he ventured, not wanting to startle the man.

The Prince of Dol Amroth's head turned swiftly, as he once again cursed himself for letting the sea set his thoughts adrift.

"Ah, Faramir. Welcome," he said, recovering swiftly.

"I appreciate you taking the time to see me on such short notice," Faramir replied, bowing his head in greeting.

"Yes, of course. Come. We shall go to my personal chambers, and I shall see to it that no one disturbs us."

"Thank you. I would prefer it if no one overhears us."

"That much I gathered, from the tone of your letter," Imrahil nodded as they made their way through the corridors. When they reached his own suite he closed the door, locking it behind him. From a chilled container it the corner he produced a wine bottle, and poured both himself and his guest a glass before sitting on the couch opposite the one Faramir occupied.

The Steward accepted the glass gratefully, and with a toast to Gondor he took a sip. Imrahil did likewise, then watched as the son of Denethor toyed with the glass, twirling it between his fingers, seemingly as lost in the swirl of the liquid inside as he had been looking out over the waves only minutes prior.

"What seems to be the trouble, my friend?" the Prince of Dol Amroth asked gently, trying to pry Faramir's thoughts away from their fascination with the wine and to someone who could hopefully better aid him with his troubles. Namely, Imrahil.

The steward jerked, almost looking surprised to see Imrahil quietly watching him, waiting for him to gather himself and respond.

"I am sorry, my mind has been troubled as of late," he ran a hand through his hair. His thoughts were quite scattered, and he was having difficulty trying to bring them back into some semblance of order. There was so much to tell! And yet, he knew not where to start.

"So I see. Why don't you start at the beginning?" Imrahil suggested.

"Aye, but where to start?" Faramir asked.

"You said it had something to do with Aragorn. Is he well?"

"That depends on your definition of 'well'," Faramir answered wryly. "If you are inquiring about his physical well-being, then yes, he is. But I cannot speak for the soundness of his mind."

"What do you mean? Has aught befallen him?" Imrahil was beginning to become concerned. '_As if I wasn't from the beginning, but from Faramir's state this is far worse than I thought…'_

"Tell me everything, Prince of Ithilien," he said. "I have as much time to devote to hearing your tale as is needed."

Faramir nodded and began his story. He told Imrahil everything, from the earliest detail he could recall as significant, to his liege's actions after the banishment of Legolas.

Imrahil's concern had grown to monumental proportions by the time the dark-haired ranger was finished, and his subsequent questioning of certain parts had been exhausted.

The prince sat back in his seat. Downing the last of his now-warm wine in a swift swig so it would hopefully bring some semblance of calm to his nerves, he shook his head. "Not to state the obvious, but this is serious, and action must be taken immediately ere the situation can become more out of hand than it is already. You were right in coming to me."

"So you will come to the White City?" Faramir asked, though by the look in the blonde man's eye he knew already what the answer would be.

"Of course," Imrahil looked offended at the thought of not coming to his king's aid when it was so obviously needed. "We shall leave first thing in the morning."

Faramir wasn't altogether pleased about the idea of waiting, eager to get back to his wife and the Queen and for him and Eowyn to be on their way to get help from the rest of their friends. However, Imrahil saw his reluctance, and put to rest any protest he had.

"One night of rest will do little harm, Faramir. You know I cannot simply leave without warning and you I am certain will face enough sleepless nights in the near future as to make this one chance to rest seem a blessing," he said, smiling sympathetically. He knew how badly the Steward wanted to see everything set to right again, but rushing off unprepared in the middle of the night was hardly the answer.

Faramir nodded. The prince had a valid point, and all the stress of the last few days had his body clamoring for a decent night's rest before he set to toiling all over the width and breath of Middle Earth.

"Besides, there's a few things I need to look into before we go," Imrahil added.

"May I ask what that would be?" the Steward asked.

Imrahil nodded. "I know the library in Minas Tirith contains a vast amount of knowledge and lore, but our own here isn't altogether shabby either. I'd like to look through it tonight, before we leave, and see if there's anything there that may help us to help the King."

"That is exactly the sort of thing Gandalf would have done were he still here," Faramir said wistfully, wishing the White Wizard if only for a moment still walked these shores. His help would have been of great benefit to them, he mused.

"Aye, but since he isn't we'll simply have to make do. Between the remaining members of the Fellowship, King Eomer, Lord Celeborn, and the Son's of Elrond, your wife, the Queen, and ourselves, surely we can come up with some sort of solution that will see all of this as just a bad memory to be put behind us."

Imrahil spoke the truth. And yet Faramir still felt his heart clenching. They may be able to find a solution, but would things ever really go back the way they were? He was no fanciful dreamer. Decisions and actions of the past could not be undone. Even if they managed to restore Aragorn's state of mind, could they save him and themselves from the consequences of his actions?

To that, there was no answer. Nor would there be for some time yet.

He pardoned himself from Imrahil's company, and retired. The swirling thoughts in his head, dominated by the thoughts of what the worst they faced would be, exhausted him, and made him poor company. Imrahil saw this, and escorted him personally to the room set aside for him, asking that dinner be sent up to the stressed Steward so that he need not concern himself with trying to make an appearance for dinner.

After taking his own meal, the prince gave instructions to several of his advisors and made preparations for the care of his realm during which what was sure to be a long absence on his part. Afterwards he walked silently down the halls of his home, until he reached a set of carved white doors. Slipping past them he made certain they were closed behind him as he began to wander amongst the many shelves and cases, looking for anything that might give even so much as a hint as to what they might be dealing with.

He stayed there for much of the night.

* * *

Never once throughout the Ring War nor all of the years she and Aragorn had fought to be together had Arwen ever once thought she'd have to face something like this. 

The sundering of the immortality that was her birthright, her ultimate separation from family and kin, all but a very few of those she loved, her eventual death… Those things she had counted on. She was no fool. She'd known what she was getting herself into should Aragorn ever take the throne. But never did she think that she'd give up everything only to have her beloved go mad.

And that was exactly what she feared was happening.

Everything in her was screaming that this wasn't something that would simply go away once the king recovered from his grief. No, it would fester and grow worse, unless they could stop it.

Otherwise all of their struggles and sacrifices would have been in vain.

There was no doubt in her mind. She knew Aragorn almost better than anyone else. No matter where they were, or what they did, she could see it.

It was in his eyes.

It was dark, it was festering, and unless drawn it would take him.

It was only a matter of time.

The Queen of Gondor sat at the window, overlooking the gardens below. Ever since that day, almost a week ago, that Legolas had been banished; she'd watched her husband ever so slowly begin the slide down into madness. So slow that there were moments when she could almost convince herself that she was just being silly. That she was overreacting and that it wasn't so dire as she was making it out to be.

Yes her Aragorn most certainly needed help, but she was blowing it out of proportion, making it more of a mountain than it already was.

No, she wasn't. She shook her head, trying to rid it of thoughts she knew were no more than wishful thinking. She knew her husband better than that, and what was happening here was no minor thing.

The day she'd woken up to find her baby dead and Legolas being blamed she'd thought she detected the faintest shadow it Aragorn's eyes. Then she'd chalked it all up to grief, and stress.

Until he'd… until he'd tortured the elf and sent him to what would most likely be his death.

Then his normally Mithril-bright eyes had been darkened, and though it had lifted that night when he'd held her in his arms, whispering comfortingly as she grieved, it had returned.

Now any annoyance or wrong-doing had it coming back, steadily growing in its teasing, minute way. Sometimes it was simply in a glance he gave something. Sometimes something in the air around him just felt wrong.

She wished Faramir would get back soon. As promised Estel had sent out riders this morning to comb the hills and towns for their elven friend, as his period of escape was as of today expired. The more she thought about the situation, he more her thoughts ran wild, spiraling towards utter despair and panic.

A hand on her shoulder caused her to jump as she whirled to face her assailant.

"Eowyn! Do you want me to die of a heart attack!"

The Lady of Ithilien smiled mischievously. "Hmm, perhaps… If it'll get you to stop brooding. Honestly my dear, one would think you were Mithrandir for all that thinking you've been doing."

"I highly doubt I have as many gray hairs or as bushy a pair of eyebrows as he did. And you most certainly won't be seeing me ever wear that ridiculous pointy hat of his," Arwen scoffed.

Eowyn laughed. "Well then, you won't mind coming with me and helping me with a little idea I have."

Arwen raised an eyebrow. "What'd you have in mind, and for what is it for?"

"It's to make keeping in touch a little easier for the both of us after Faramir and I leave," Eowyn replied.

"And how do you plan to manage that?" Arwen's curiosity was piqued.

"You'll see." Was all she was able to get out of the Nazgul slayer as she led the two of them out of the palace.

"Here, put this on," she shoved a cloak into the queen's hands, and then disappeared into the stables. When the blonde lady came back, she was leading two inconspicuous-looking bays and wearing her own plain cloak and a pack.

Arwen got the idea and took hold of one of the horses, fastening the fabric about her shoulders and climbing on, as Eowyn already had. With a nod to the guards, who had been told in advance that the two ladies were going out unescorted, they were riding through the gates and down into the lower levels of the city. Arwen could hardly see why they needed the horses, but decided to simply stay her questions and trust that Eowyn would offer up an explanation soon enough.

With the overcast weather it was easy to ride through the city levels without anyone taking notice of them. People were either trying to get their business done and get home before the rain came, or they were simply not of any mind to care when two cloaked and hooded riders went passed.

As they came upon the Great Gates, Eowyn smiled in appreciation of this. She didn't want any of the delays that inquiring guards or random people would bring, she simply wanted to get herself and Arwen out of the city for a bit so they could get away from their current problems for a few blessed hours before her husband came back and they would be locked down into dealing with them for who knew how long.

Unfortunately, as is often the case, such plans often do not go quite as one would wish them to.

"What need, does the Lady of Ithilien and the Queen of Gondor have to try to sneak out of the City that is their home as though they were fugitives?"

If it wouldn't have gotten her thrown in prison Eowyn would have thrown quite a heavy rock at Elessar's head at that moment. "We seek the peace and solitude of two friends going for a ride together, and have no wish to burden ourselves with an escort or people coming to gawk at us because of our station. Inconspicuousness is the best way to achieve that, wouldn't you agree?"

Aragorn, standing with the leader of the guards stationed at the outer wall, stared down at them, his gaze impassive, yet searching. '_It's almost as though he's suspicious of us,' _Arwen mused to herself. It saddened her, that her husband wouldn't simply take their word as he used to, and now felt he had to analyze it.

"I assure you, Estel, we only wish to ride for a while. We'll be back in a few hours," she consoled, trying to get him to simply let them go instead of questioning them until the rains let loose and they would be unable to leave.

Aragorn didn't grace them with a verbal response, only stared; looking back and forth between them for what seemed like an hour, before he turned away with an absent-minded wave of his hand. "Do as you wish."

Arwen smiled. "I'll see you tonight Estel," she called as the two of them rode through the Gates.

"See that you don't get back too late," he shouted after her.

The Queen turned in the saddle and smiled at him, waving as they turned north and picked up a trot.

"So, Eowyn," she said, "what plans had you for us once we got out here?"

The Lady graced her with a mischievous smirk. "I'll race you."

Arwen's easy smile became one of competitive challenge. "You're on."

They spent the next half hour allowing their mounts the chance to stretch their limbs and get their heart-rates up, before they selected a starting point at a patch of moss in the ground.

"Ready?" Eowyn asked.

"Been ready," Arwen replied.

"HA!" they cried, spurring their horses into a gallop. Within moments the animals had gotten the idea that they were racing, and took off with a passion, eager and excited to be doing something different than their normal routine.

The cold wind whipped at their faces, their heartbeats trying to match the drumming sound of hooves beneath them.

Eowyn tossed her head as her hood was torn off to flap against her back, freeing her hair in a wild stream of sun-tinted locks. Laughter escaped as she reveled in the feeling of twelve hundred pounds of unbridled power moving at breakneck speed beneath her. It was not quite the same as her own Rohirrim-bred stallion, who was by far a superior racer to the creature she was currently on, but nevertheless it was an exhilarating and empowering feeling. The fear of knowing how disastrous a fall could be fueling her delight and egging her on to dance with death and danger as she and her companion raced each other and the winds.

Arwen was no less affected. Long had it been since she and her brothers had gone to some wide-open space and simply let their horses go for the sheer fun of it. Whispering to her horse in her native tongue, she trusted him to keep a steady and responsible course as she tied the reins to keep them from falling and tripping him up. As Eowyn watched bemusedly out of the corner of her eye, the Queen of Gondor let go of the reins, and threw her hands up and out behind her, throwing her head back with them and giving a shout of joy.

"See to it you don't fall, my friend," Eowyn called. "I have no desire to stop to pick you up if you do."

"Speak for yourself, Rohirrim," Arwen shouted back. "We of elven blood are of a superior skill when atop these beasts. It is you who should fear a fall, not me!"

"Ha! I doubt that. Notice how it is my folk who are renowned as 'The Horse-Masters', not yours!"

"Well, then. I suppose we should get down to business and settle this little debate!"

"Indeed!"

Arwen once again took up the reins and bent low over her horse's neck, standing in the stirrups so that the equine's back was freed and he would have an easier time moving without her weight shifting on it with every stride. Eowyn had done similar, and the two now set about to defending their people's honor as horsemen.

Eowyn had the taller mount, with a subsequently longer-reaching stride. But Arwen's gelding was gamer, with a will and a penchant for proving who was the faster. Across the Pelennor they flew, neck and neck, until even the riders had to admit they were beginning to tire.

In the end, no one won, and they pulled up, laughing and taunting one another.

"'Twas a good try, Eowyn, but you have to admit that had we an actual finish-line, you would have been surely lost in my horse's dust," Arwen gave a haughty elven smirk.

"I think otherwise, my Lady," Eowyn grinned. "Next time we shall have to have more appropriate mounts and an actual racecourse, and then we shall see that it will be you choking on my horse's dust."

"Then we shall do so, when you have returned and all is back to how it should be," Arwen laughed.

Eowyn nodded. "So be it, my friend."

She turned to look at their surroundings, and noticed they had gone quite a ways north, and were now in a marsh-like area of fields known as the Wet Wang. But it was what she saw straight ahead that had her eyebrows furrowed and eyes straining to see that which was just to the right of their path straight ahead.

"What is that?"

**-**

**TBC…**

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**-**

**A/N: Ohhhhh, I wonder what that could be… Anyways I decided to spare you the author's note at the beginning so that you could get right down to the chapter as I know you were all so anxious to do. My computer, as anyone who has read my Livejournal lately can tell you, was on the fritz, but is now back in working order. I was further delayed by the onset of finals, and then the tediousness of packing up my dorm (which is kind of stupid as I'll be going back to the same room at the start of the fall semester) and moving three hundred miles back home, after which it has been nothing but running around and everyone wanting me for one thing or another, and not having even a moment to sit down and drag my muse back from wherever she'd gone off to so I could work on any of my stories. Actually I'm now at my friend's house finishing this, and then I have to go take an extremely quick shower and head off to lunch with her and her mother at a Chinese buffet. **

**But enough blabbering, and excuses that I'm sure you're by now not very interested in after that long speech. I will be making more time to write, for my sanity's sake if not to keep angry lynch-mobs of readers from coming after me. So though I'm not entirely sure how often I'll be updating, I'm going to do my best to keep it within the two-week time-span that I had before.**

**And thank you all soo much for the incredible feedback I've gotten on this. It's been amazing to see so many comments from you all. Not to say you should stop though! My muse is absolutely loving it and for those of you who have read any of my other stories you'll notice I've gotten far more done on this story in a far shorter time-span than any of my others. /sheepish grin/**

**So don't forget to feed the muse, or to go to my Livejournal page (link's on my bio) for your review responses, which will be up sometime tonight. Oh, and for the convenience of you people who are new to fanfiction I'm going to put up some commonly-used abbreviations that you'll see authors use.**

**See you again soon! **


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